6:18 PM
by Shade Embry
Summary: Martin gets the call.


|Fanfic » TV Shows » Without A Trace » 6:18 P.M. | |By Brittany "Thespis" Frederick | | | |Bottom of Form |  
  
6:18 P.M.  
  
Author: Brittany "Thespis" Frederick  
  
Rating: PG  
  
Summary: Martin gets the call.  
  
Spoilers: Pilot  
  
Follows: Cornerstone (sort of, not required reading)  
  
Disclaimer: Without A Trace is not mine. It's the property of CBS and its production company and creators and so forth. However, this fic and all original content in it IS mine, and if you wish to repost it, please let me know at AgentThespis@msn.com, and I'll gladly let you. I also want to thank the phenomenal team at WTA, especially the delightful Eric Close, for a show that got me hooked from day one.  
  
6:18 P.M. - Home early.  
  
Martin walked in the door of his apartment, shut the door, rested his weight on it and sighed, running a hand through his hair. Maybe his new "teammates" didn't want to kill him, but he could do with a little more hospitality. Samantha had told him not to worry about the whole getting- bludgeoned-with-a-baseball-bat thing, but Danny was still cracking wise-ass about it now and then (although Samantha said this was just something he did), and Jack still thought he needed his head checked and was keeping him on a leash. A long leash, but a leash nonetheless. He wasn't a MisPer expert, but hadn't he proven himself good enough to let go one mistake?  
  
Instead, he just said, "Damn," and moved on with it.  
  
With days like these, he'd keep getting home early for a long while. Eventually, his career would follow him. And daddy dearest would certainly not be pleased with his golden son then. He could hear the next screaming match now. His dad had always been there when he needed him to be, but always seemed to be there when he didn't need him too. And the last thing he wanted was his father pulling strings to save him from himself. That would go real far in the real world.  
  
He flipped the stereo on as he walked into the bedroom, didn't even bother to see what he'd left in it, just lost the jacket and tie and moved into the bathroom while Peter Gabriel started going on about something or other.  
  
Martin took a good hard moment to look at himself in the mirror: the eyes slightly bloodshot from lackluster sleep at night that had nothing to do with work, the general dark shadow that had fallen across him of recent. A lot of people didn't understand why he didn't have it all, Danny and Samantha among them. The kid of a high-powered, well-connected lawyer, from an affluent family, with power and good academics. They expected him to be in an insulated job with some attitude and a Porsche and why in the hell was he working on the street, trying to be normal, driving a Pontiac? That seemed to be the one million dollar question.  
  
His heart had never been in that. His father had always taught him that no matter what you had, you also had a responsibility to do something with it, give something back. He wasn't like Maggie Cartwright, with a divorced family with a big house and a lot of money to throw around. His parents were still together, the house was bigger than some but it wasn't its own zip code, and the money was well-invested, well-directed. Martin only strove to drop his shoulder and live up to his father's precept as well as to the higher calling in his own heart, that had been there as long as he could remember. It was one thing to be from the upper echelon, but he lived a normal life, and all he saw it as was that he had an advantage that could be put to somebody else's use.  
  
He'd lived his life that way - good academics, good college, a couple of loyal friends, a few awards, living for the moments when he wasn't Victor Fitzgerald's kid. A couple of girlfriends, nothing serious, not with the focus on his work that he had even back then. A lot of reading - there were still plenty of books around the apartment he had every intention of getting to. A lot of preparing. He'd known since he was a teenager what he wanted to do was go and work for the FBI, with a chance to touch the nation, make a difference. Maybe that was a tad idealistic, but then so be it. He could make a difference. With that difference came success, and with success the power and opportunity for a larger difference. Save the world, maybe not, but he could change it. That was enough to let him sleep at night. And when it wasn't, he spent a lot of time in the hour of the wolf, thinking.  
  
6:20 P.M. - The phone rings.  
  
"Without a noise, without my pride . I reach out from the inside."  
  
Martin snapped back into the present at the sound of the phone over Peter's voice. It was on the second ring when he grabbed it off the bedroom nightstand and carried it through to the living room, intent on having that glass of wine just a tad early. His hand was on the bottle when he almost dropped it.  
  
"Trish?" he said, acting more carefully now.  
  
"Yeah . you left a message on my machine."  
  
He thought back quickly: yes, he had, he remembered it like yesterday, because it pretty much had been yesterday, just days ago. After the end of Maggie's case, after being released from the hospital, he'd laid in bed, thought about her, called her up. He'd gotten her machine, hung up, thought better of it, dialed back, left a message. His first message since he'd left ground-floor work for white-collar in Seattle. Then Seattle to Manhattan. And.  
  
"Martin?"  
  
"Right. Yeah, I called," Martin continued, closing the fridge door, popping the bottle.  
  
"That's a new area code of yours."  
  
"It's Manhattan," he said, pouring half a glass - take it easy tonight - and replacing the bottle.  
  
"Manhattan? How the hell did you get to New York?"  
  
He bit his lip for a second, hesitating, thinking back to Orlando. But if Trish was anything, she was honest, and he had always been honest with her. "I'm working with the Missing Persons squad. Still in Orlando?"  
  
"Not anymore. Just moved a week ago. My phone's being forwarded."  
  
"You're kidding," Martin continued, grabbing the glass and circling around the kitchen counter. "I thought you were Derrick's heir apparent. What happened?"  
  
"Jace got his ticket up to the big show. He's got a new TRACON." "Where?"  
  
"Newark. I don't know how he can do it, but."  
  
"Isn't that like the busiest TRACON in the country?" The awe still in his voice as he drops into a living room chair, balancing the phone on his shoulder, Martin couldn't keep a small smile off his face. The number of times Jace had talked about Newark. And of course, the fact that Newark was in the state just across the Hudson. Except he wasn't quite sure what to decide about that latter piece of information.  
  
"Yeah. He says he's doing fine, though." Trish exhaled, ending on a little laugh. "That's odd. I thought I was making some long distance call across country and here we are."  
  
"In adjoining states."  
  
Peter Gabriel turned over to Bobby Caldwell.  
  
"I see you in a lonely place, how can you be so blind? You're still regretting the love you left, left behind."  
  
Martin shot a glare in the direction of his stereo, as if it cared. He paused, trying to figure out what to say to the one ex-girlfriend he still bothered to keep in contact with, if he could call dialing her up after more than two years contact, adding the occasional courtesy phone message in between.  
  
"I'd . say let's get together, but I can't," he said hesitatingly. "Not with this job . these hours." How it drives me completely nuts, like it did you but you won't admit it. "You know, that whole 'it's not me, it's you' thing." Pausing, he laughed a little. "Come on, you can admit you don't believe me."  
  
"I do."  
  
"Really?"  
  
"Stop sounding surprised, not that much has changed."  
  
Well, not on your end of the line. "I'm sorry."  
  
"Don't apologize. It's okay."  
  
"If you say so. So . if he's at Newark, what are you doing?"  
  
"I'm working for the crime lab there. Same job, new location."  
  
"Any better?"  
  
"Can't say just yet. I miss the boys, though."  
  
I've had that feeling. "I'm sure they were sad to see you go."  
  
"Most of them. Tony, Derrick, the guys." She trailed off. "You know this part of the story."  
  
Better than you think I do. "I know," he said, leaning back in the chair knowing he would be on the phone for a while. "But let me hear it again. Sometimes it's nice to be reminded."  
  
"It is not."  
  
"I'm serious."  
  
Martin checked his watch. If he'd been barely later, he would have missed this. Feeling the sense of companionship and faith Trish used to provide coming over him again, he decided coming home early wasn't too bad after all. He would have to thank Danny in the morning. 


End file.
